


Inferno Tempest

by bittenfeld



Category: Fushigi Yuugi
Genre: Enemy Kissing, M/M, Prisoners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3839092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a 3-page tidbit – I couldn’t resist after that scene of Nakago forcing a kiss on Tamahome (!)</p><p>Now it’s Nakago who’s a prisoner of Suzaku’s seishi, after a mystical ceremony gone-wrong that accidentally switched several of Suzaku’s and Seiryuu’s seishi to each other’s domain.  And now Tamahome will have his revenge against the blond warrior.</p><p>(If you’ve read my Sleepy Hollow fic “Secrets”, you might recognize part of this - I modified it and inserted it there, but this is the original.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inferno Tempest

Blue eyes glinted brightly behind tangled golden strands, lips twitched in a taunting little smile, and a deep voice challenged lightly, “You can’t hurt me. You want me. You want me as much as I want you.”

And the low resonance of that voice vibrated deep within Tamahome’s groin, and the cold heat of the blue fire burned into his own dark eyes. And the taunting quiet statement again: “You want me. Surrender to it.”

And the taunt triggered an explosion of red blaze behind Tamahome’s eyes, the smile of his tormentor raked a white hot blaze across his soul. And almost of its own volition, his open palm swung up, exploded across the prisoner’s smiling face, as a punctuating “NO!” burst from his lips.

Nakago’s head rocked back, blond tresses flying, as a grunt escaped his lips.

Blaze consumed Tamahome, flames writhed in glimmering eyes, and his hand caught a savage backhand across Nakago’s other cheek. “No! No – no – no!” – each outburst punctuated by another searing crack across unprotected cheeks, back and forth.

With each blow, the shogun gasped, golden mane tossing, clenched eyes tearing. Harder, harder. Beneath the blazing onslaught, pale cheeks flushed pink, pink bloomed to red. Bound wrists caught behind his back offered no protection. Teeth gritted. Involuntary his head tried to duck as though to escape the punishing blows.

But Tamahome would not be thwarted. Free hand clutching a fistful of blond hair right down to the scalp wrenched the beautiful head up to meet another screaming hot slap right across the mouth.

“Damn you!” he yelled. “Damn you! Damn you!” trying to match blow for blow every slap this man had given him, every whip slice that had gashed his flesh.

Outside in the outer room, seated at the little wooden table with a half-empty bottle of sake, Hotohori and Tasuki listened, but said nothing; knew, but did not watch. This did not involve them. Later they would have their say. But not now. This was Tamahome’s need.

Propping a heel up on the table, Tasuki slouched back and poured himself another drink.

Nakago took each blow, grunting and gasping as his breath burst from his swollen lips. But not one plea crossed that barrier.

And when Tamahome finally let up, arm-weary and panting to re-capture his own pounding breath, those bloody swollen lips could still manage a little arrogant twist. And eyes wet with pain-tears could still flicker with amused challenge.

And the victim taunted his tormentor, “Does it hurt, seishi? Does it sting? Does it burn like hellfire? Tell me.”

A warning hiss of fury slipped between the brunet’s teeth. It did burn, terribly. His right hand stung and throbbed like he had gripped hot iron, certainly as much as Nakago’s blushing face must have pained. In attempting to hurt his punisher, he had hurt himself just as surely as if their positions had been reversed and the blond sorcerer-warrior had exacted another horror against him.

All this, Nakago read in fiery eyes, and chuckled despite his own screaming pain.

Tamahome’s eyes flared in fury. “Damn you!” he reiterated, still gripping the long blond mass to hold the face within inches of his own. Radiating heat from sweat-slick faces wafted over both of them.

And still those blue eyes challenged, wet and blue, so blue. Tamahome found himself drift­ing, drowning in their watery depths. Gods, he could not pull himself away. The gaze pulled him in and bound him; he was being ensorcelled and he knew it, but he could not look away, _would_ not look away. Something gripped his chest, a fist squeezed his heart, his lungs, he couldn’t breathe. Of its own accord, a tiny moan issued from his throat. And he knew what he was going to do next, knew and couldn’t prevent himself, not one bit.

Then his face closed the distance between them, and his mouth covered the blood-swollen one beneath. To stop the little taunts, the little pricks, he told himself, but it wasn’t the truth. The reality was, he had no will of his own any longer. Kisses demanded, taken, forced. Another helpless moan, mingling with the chuckles of the other man, the prisoner, but who was the prisoner now?

Willingly, all too easily, Nakago’s lips parted, inviting, coaxing. And Tamahome’s tongue thrust in, violating as Nakago had violated him not so long ago. And yet, even in this, the blond mastered, for Tamahome was as much under the man’s power now as when their situations had been reversed. Breaths mingled, auras intertwined, tongues slid, caressed, entwined. He could feel Naka­go’s tongue intrude into his mouth, and willingly he opened wider, sealed their lips as the wet flesh deep-throated him once again. Tamahome could only groan, and take their coitus, their mingled saliva, binding them as surely as any sexual conjoining would have.

And only then did the world finally solidify around them once again, and Tamahome found enough strength to break the intercourse. But not quickly enough to escape a final flick of magical tongue against his lips.

Abruptly Tamahome jerked back, breaking contact. He gulped for air, like a drowning man pulled to safety barely in time.

“What happened?” he gasped, when he could finally form his thoughts into words again.

“Don’t you know?” the blond challenged with a smile, eyes still possessing.

“What did you do to me?”

“I did nothing to you. Don’t you understand, Seishi of Suzaku? We are already locked toge­ther for all eternity. Your bondmate is Seishi of Seiryuu. We are one. I am you, and you are I. Neither of us can escape our fate.”

“That’s disgusting! I hate you!”

“I’m sure you do. But that’s irrelevant. Neither of us has a choice. You’ll come to me when your body craves fucking…”

“Never!”

“… and you’ll beg me to take you.”

“Oh… gods!” Tamahome blurted as his guts lurched.

From the outer room, Tasuki’s drawl interrupted, “Ah, fer fire’s sake, shut up, before I get the brilliant idea to come in there and cut it off and solve everybody’s problem.”

That did draw a hesitation from their prisoner, and that was enough for Tamahome to gather enough wits to jerk away and stride – not quite run – into the outer room, past his friends’ table and over to the balustrade.

Shakily he leaned against the wood railing, gripping it, while his stomach decided whether or not to throw up. A million thoughts and feelings zipped through his mind like little fire sprites, and over them all, the implacable understanding that Nakago spoke the truth.

“C’mon,” his flame-haired companion nudged, holding up the sake bottle. “Have a drink – you’ll feel better,” then proceeded to gulp a large swig himself.

A little glance over his shoulder, a quick shake of head.

“Tamahome,” the deep gentle voice of Hotohori soothed. “Perhaps Chichiri can break the bond, or at least set wards between the two of you.”

”It won’t do any good,” Tamahome contradicted. “The ceremony melded the gods’ influences, and until or unless they separate, we’re each locked to Seiryuu’s seishi.” A breath hitched. “Gods, it wasn’t supposed to happen that way!”

“I know.” Joining his friend at the railing, the emperor gazed out over sky and land’s sunset palette. “But perhaps Chichiri will be able to read the energy tracings and we can redo the cere­mony.”

“We don’t even know where Chichiri is, or which one of them has him. Or Nuriko… or Chiriko… Gods, if any of those bastards touch Chiriko…” At the thought of the child-seishi being harmed or molested – in any way – words caught behind the lump in Tamahome’s throat.

The boy… Hotohori felt his own throat tighten, and a flash of Tamahome’s mental image lit in his own mind – that of Tamahome’s younger brothers and sisters, children already destroyed by the Seiryuu seishi. And now they had Chiriko as well.

By now, Tasuki had finished off the one bottle. “Yeah, well, we’ve got four of theirs in return. And this is our turf.” He snorted. “I wonder which one I’ll be drawn to. I hope it’s that fucker Toma – I’d like to singe his tail feathers.”

“Enough!” Hotohori commanded softly. “You’re not helping matters, Tasuki.”

“Yeah, well, I’m drunk, so what? Where’s the other bottle? I know we brought another one out.”

Slight tremors played through Tamahome’s breathing, eyes shut against threatening tears. Heat was already spreading its tendrils throughout his flesh. How long could he resist? Maybe alcohol would help after all. Maybe that’s why Tasuki was drunk.

“Tama,” the gentle voice of the friend at his elbow urged, “perhaps if it can’t be undone, then at least Mitsukake may be able to formulate a physic, an elixir, to ease the, uh, need… And if neces­sary, know that I am here for you. We’re all here for you.”

A taut nod of black head. “We’re here for each other. Sooner or later it will affect us all,” he reminded.

Footsteps inside, and a sliding door opened from another interior room. “Did I hear my name?” the husky physician inquired, approaching his friends.

“How are the other prisoners?” Hotohori queried.

Stopping by the water barrel, Mitsukake poured a dipper of water over each hand, then over the back of his neck. “They’ll survive. They’re disoriented, but I would assume that’s to be expected when Seiryuu seishi are pulled through Suzaku’s energy field.” He drew out a chair at the table. “Amiboshi is the most distressed, probably because he was pulled over without his brother, and their twin-bond is stretched. Nakago seems to be faring the best – perhaps he was able to shield himself somewhat during the transition.”

“Doctor!” From inside, Nakago called for the big Suzaku seishi. “Would you be kind enough to bring me water? Your Suzaku’s fire has parched my throat, and I thirst greatly.”

Compliantly the physician filled a bowl and took it in to the shogun.

Tasuki had his own opinion. “Aw, let him suffer,” he called after the big man, and muttered to himself, “Who’s taking care of our friends on the other side, anyway?”

Hotohori just shook his head at the rhetorical question

The sun had set by now, but the autumn air was still warm, and the south wind was dry.

> > > > >


End file.
